Shawarma
by usa123
Summary: Tony Stark coerces the team into eating shawarma after the Battle of New York. In hindsight, a trip to the hospital may have been more appropriate. Tag to the Avengers. Entire team involved. Cover image used with permission.


**Happy New Year!**

**I was going through my hard drive and found this little one-shot from July 2012. By now, the "shawarma scenes" have probably been done to death but here's my take on what happened after the Battle of New York.**

**A/N: Phageous from DeviantArt graciously granted me permission to use her wonderful drawing "The one about shawarma" as the cover photo. Unfortunately, I had to crop it significantly in order to upload it. You can view the entire image at phageous . deviantart "dot" com / art / Avengers - The - one - about - shawarma - 311326116 (replace the "dot" with a period and take out the spaces).**

* * *

It was over. They had won.

As Steve looked around though, he couldn't help but think perhaps this wasn't a victory. Sure, they had defeated the Chitauri, but at what cost? There had been so much destruction in such a short time. Buildings were still smoking, large holes in the side of them from collisions with the Chitauri or the Hulk. The streets were either blocked entirely with rubble and Chitauri parts or were cracked so deeply that they were practically unusable. Cars were turned on their hoods and some were flipped over entirely. It was going to take a lot of time and energy to get Manhattan back into working order.

Though he had just helped stop Loki from taking over the city, he had also contributed to this breathtaking devastation. He winced as a two-man crew of firefighters pulled a charred corpse from a pile of rubble. They laid it reverently on the ground, crossed its arms over its chest and gently lowered its eyelids. A woman climbed through a broken window a few doors down with a pile of table cloths in one hand and began to cover the victims the responders had found.

Steve swallowed hard as the crushing reality that lives had been lost crashed down upon him. These people were innocents, not soldiers who had willingly aligned themselves with evil. These people had been going along their daily lives and, now, some of them wouldn't be going home.

He wanted to stay and begin moving the larger pieces of concrete out of the roadways so rescue crews could pass through, but Stark, who had managed to get his suit working again, was tugging on his arm, begging him to come get shawarma. Actually, there wasn't really much of a choice. Stark appeared to have convinced everyone else before him, and he was caught in the wave of Avengers moving towards the Lebanese restaurant.

He gasped as someone's elbow collided with his still healing side but it was lost in the cloud of hisses and curses emitting from the other Avengers as the adrenaline began wearing off and injuries started to make themselves known. He clasped a hand to his throbbing torso and felt a warm liquid trickle slowly through his fingers. He kept moving though, knowing that the shawarma place would allow him to sit down. He was so engrossed with the simple motion of putting one foot in front of the other that he didn't even realize they had arrived.

Though their place no longer had a front wall, the owners gladly welcomed them into the restaurant. Steve tried to insist that this really wasn't necessary but one owner wouldn't take "no" for an answer. She hollered at the cook who began throwing lamb and vegetables onto the stove and the rest of the kitchen staff who began preparing pitas.

As much as Steve didn't want to be a burden to these people who had just lost so much, the world had begun to spin and he all but collapsed into the nearest chair. He was vaguely aware of someone snickering at him but he didn't care. The chair was solid beneath him and he was so incredibly glad to be off his feet.

Suddenly, a basket of food was pushed into his eye line. He glanced left and nodded his thanks to the waitress who was clearly blushing. He winced as the small motion set his head and neck ablaze with pain.

Stark dug into his shawarma, followed by Thor with equal enthusiasm. Barton lifted his left leg with both hands and rested it on Natasha's chair. Had he not been so concerned with staying awake, Steve would have been worried for Clint's life, but the red-headed assassin scooted over slightly so there was room for him to stretch out his obviously injured limb. She carefully inspected her food before taking a delicate bite. Banner was also eating with vigor, his multiple transformations into the Hulk having taken a toll on his appetite.

In fact, he was the only one not eating. It smelled amazing, but the act of bringing the food toward him seemed like a little much to manage at the moment. He dropped his head into his right hand which was leaning on the table, exhaling gratefully as that position brought some relief to his headache. Someone shoved the basket a little closer to him and, without lifting his head, he tore off a small portion. He immediately regretted it as the act of swallowing sent waves of agony through his side. It took all he had to keep from vomiting, knowing that action would pull on his abdomen even more.

But it didn't seem as if anyone else noticed. Thor was politely hollering for another shawarma and Barton had produced a book, from God-knows-where.

So Steve sat there quietly while his head kept throbbing. It was suddenly very warm in the room and he felt beads of perspiration break out on his forehead and arms. It made sense, really, since he had multiple layers on under his flag-inspired suit and the air condition was of little use considering one major wall was missing from the restaurant.

It was also getting very difficult to concentrate. There was no conversation in the room, just the sounds of shawarma being consumed, and that sound was not engaging enough to keep him grounded.

No one was really paying attention to him, were they? So they wouldn't really mind if he just closed his eyes…just for a second…

Just…one…second...

* * *

Tony swallowed hard, his last bite of shawarma sliding like a rock down his esophagus. He squinted at the pouch and laid it down as the thought of another bite churned his overfull stomach. He looked up and saw that even Thor was slowing down and was now shoving food into his mouth at a less than Olympic rate. Everyone else appeared to have finished long ago and had politely stacked their dishes in the middle of the table. Cap, who had barely touched his, was fast asleep, his bruised jaw slacking to one side.

Stark pulled a few crisp bills from his wallet, more than enough to cover their bill and to kickstart renovations on the building. The owner immediately began to protest the large amount but Tony just shook his head and wrapped her hand around the money, fixing her with "the look" that instantly convinced the recipient to agree with whatever he had just said. It had worked on everyone he'd tried it on, even Pepper in her worst mood.

Sure enough, the owner nodded her thanks and began rattling off plans to rebuild the wall and decorate it with a large Avengers' mural…That's when Tony stopped listening. It was kind of her, really, but completely unnecessary.

When she had run off into the kitchen, he shoved his chair back and stood. "Shall we?"

Bruce nodded, interlacing his fingers and leaning over the back of the chair to stretch out his stiff back before standing. With a wince, Clint managed to lower his leg off Tasha's chair without bending it. He took a deep breath, and launched himself upward, getting his injured leg under him in one swift motion. He grinned slightly but continued to hold onto the table for support.

Thor shoved the last pita pouch into his mouth and picked Mjölnir off the ground, now prepared to escort Loki back to Asgard. After the Battle, he had summoned a set of magical handcuffs and a muzzle for Loki to keep him from escaping on his own volition and to prevent his silver tongue from convincing others to free him. Once he had ensured his brother had suffered no life-threatening injuries, Thor had left him under Agent Hill's watchful eye while he partook of the post-battle meal with his team. "I shall depart, if your world no longer requires my services."

"Not so fast big guy," Tony stood directly in front of Thor and put his hands on the god's massive shoulders. "We have to fill out paperwork first."

Thor pulled a face. "Paper…work?"

Stark winced in sympathy. "You'll get used to it."

He headed toward the door, lightly flicking Rogers' shoulder as he passed. He wasn't expecting Steve's hand to fly away from his abdomen and grab his wrist in a bone-crushing grip.

"Hey!" he shouted as Steve unconsciously tightened his hold. "Cap! Rogers! Steve!" His shouts caught the attention of the other Avengers who turned from their own devices to focus on the soldier.

Suddenly, Steve's eyes flew open, his gaze bouncing wildly around the room until it came to rest on Tony.

He quickly released Stark's wrist and the billionaire clutched the aching joint against his chest. "Sorry," Rogers managed, his breath coming in heavy pants.

"S'okay," Tony replied lamely, not really sure what else to say.

"Did I…"

Tony vehemently shook his head and winced as the motion pulled on his neck. "Just a bruise."

Steve's blue eyes filled with concern. "Stark, I'm re—"

"Forget about it," Stark waved his other hand dismissively. "Let's just get everyone back to….well, where is everyone going?"

The Avengers hesitated, no one having really considered that question until this very moment. What _would_ happen now? Did they go their separate ways, allowing this battle to become a distant memory? Tony wasn't sure Bruce, Natasha or Clint actually had places to stay in Manhattan and he _knew _Thor didn't. Steve had an apartment in Brooklyn, but with the streets blocked off to allow for emergency traffic only, it didn't seem like he was going to be getting there anytime soon.

Well, Tony sure as hell wasn't walking home so the city was just going to have to make an exception. He pulled his sleek phone from his pocket, frowning as he spied the large crack running through its center. He tapped the screen but was rewarded with utter blackness. He dropped the broken device into his pocket, reached behind the counter for the landline he had noticed earlier, and dialed Happy, who promised to be there in a few minutes.

"You're all welcome to stay at Stark Tower for the next few days until…until whatever," he announced to the room, dropping the headset back into its cradle. It didn't escape his notice that both Banner and Barton looked incredibly relieved at the thought of having a place to go.

"Happy's gonna be here soon," Tony added and everyone began hobbling toward the street.

Sure enough, the enthusiastic driver sprung out of the stretch limo ten minutes later and yanked open the rear door. They filed into the limo one-by-one, leaving Clint last so he would have to do the least amount of maneuvering with his leg.

Stark took the seat closest to the mini-fridge and immediately opened the small cabinet hung above it. He frowned as he saw only five glasses: three tumblers and two of Pepper's juice-shot monstrosities. He glanced around the limo and spied a paper cup lodged against the partition. He grabbed it and, upon seeing no traces of previous use, declared it clean. He poured a decent amount of scotch into each glass and began passing them around. Both Steve and Bruce looked like they wanted to refuse but Tony insisted. "It's a toast."

When everyone had a glass, Tony lifted his into the air and looked pointedly at Barton and Romanov to do the honors.

Natasha tapped Clint's elbow with her own and the archer swallowed hard. "To Phil Coulson," he finally declared, his voice only a slight bit shaky.

"To Phil Coulson," the other Avengers repeated, clinking their glasses together in the center of the car.

* * *

The drive to Stark Tower took longer than expected because more rescue forces had arrived on the scene to direct traffic away from the most damaged streets and buildings. With the exception of one newbie policeman who failed to recognize the customized Stark license plates, the police force had generally been kind to the Avengers and had directed them to a less-populated route. Half hour later, Happy pulled into the closest parking place in the Tower and the Avengers grudgingly pulled themselves from incredibly comfortable seats. Steve was the only one that didn't move, his head lolling against the far window.

"Hey Rogers!" Tony called, now knowing better than to touch the soldier while he was sleep. "Happy wants to get going…He has a life too, you know."

"Cap?" he questioned when Steve didn't respond. Sighing heavily, Tony reached across the limo and poked the buckle release on the seat belt. As the belt zipped back into the side of the car, Steve slumped forward, his forehead on a crash course with his knees.

Tony's eyes widened and he lunged forward, managing to catch Rogers before he face-planted.

"Banner!" he hollered, struggling to hold Steve upright. Just when he was about to be squashed by the captain, a large hand appeared in his vision and gently pushed Rogers back against the seat.

As Stark nodded his thanks to Thor, Bruce leaned his head in, spied Steve's lax posture and quickly hopped back into the vehicle.

"Steve!" Banner knelt on the ground beside Stark and patted the soldier's cheek, knowing the Other Guy would protect him from any serious damage.

Unlike the earlier scene in the restaurant, there was no response from the Cap. While he continued to hold the soldier upright, Stark suddenly noticed the royal blue material of the suit was more of a purplish color. He shifted his grip on Steve's shoulder and pulled his hand away from the blue spandex uniform, grimacing as his fingers came away smeared with a red substance.

The Widow poked her head back inside the limo. "What's going on?"

"We need to get him to a hospital," Banner stated, spying Steve's blood on Tony's fingers. Then he remembered the way Natasha had been holding her wrist almost immobile the entire trip back, the way Barton had done the same for his leg and the way Stark kept staring wide-eyed at the far wall, almost as if he was zoning out. "Actually, it wouldn't be a bad idea for _everyone _to get checked out."

Clint leaned in behind Natasha. "I'm sure they're all at capacity."

"Agent Barton is right sir," JARVIS announced, startling Thor, Bruce and Clint. "The shortest wait is projected at one hour and forty minutes."

While Thor glanced upwards and carefully examined every inch of the limo's ceiling, looking for the strange voice, Barton turned to Natasha. "Where's that entrance to _that_ SHIELD base?" he asked, knowing it would contain a state-of-the-art medical bay.

The Widow stared at him curiously. "It's not around here, is it?"

"I think so but I'm not sure," Clint replied. "I was high on pain killers at the time."

"I was unconscious!"

"You said you'd been there before."

"Yes but, during that trip, I was too busy making sure my idiot partner didn't code."

Clint sighed heavily before reaching back into the limo and grabbed a cocktail napkin. Natasha plucked a gold pen from Happy's breast pocket, ignoring his loud protests, and handed it to the archer, who immediately began sketching the major cross streets. "What do you remember passing?"

As they began to narrow down the location, Banner unfastened Steve's uniform top with the intention of putting more concentrated pressure on the wound. As he pulled back the reinforced material though, he stared in shock at Steve's flank.

"What? How bad is it?" Stark craned his neck to see the injury. He too was stunned into silence by the lack of an open wound. In its place was a harsh pink oval directly under the bloodstains, indicative of a laceration that had just closed but was far from being completely healed. The surrounding area was a more vivid crimson, the once charred flesh flaking away as new skin regenerated around the injury site.

"Not as bad as it could have been," Bruce finally decided.

Thor shifted so he could examine Steve's injury as well. "It appears our Captain has begun to heal at a most rapid rate."

Clint poked his head back into the limo. "He has?" He stared at Rogers' side, his expression oscillating between amazement and annoyance. "That's just not fair," he muttered.

Suddenly, Steve shifted. "Whaz not fair?" the soldier questioned, staring blearily through half-closed eyes.

"You," Clint scowled before straightening up and returning to locating the SHIELD base with Romanov.

"How are you feeling?" Banner asked, as if Barton hadn't spoken.

The familiar question apparently caught Steve off-guard and his eyes flew open, his gaze flickered around the limo. "I'm fine," he answered almost mechanically, "I swear."

"Sure you are," Tony replied with a patronizing nod.

"It's nothing I couldn't have handled myself."

"The fact that you passed out on the way home says otherwise."

Steve was quiet for a long moment. "It _is _healing, right?"

"This time. But you might not always be so lucky. Seriously, Stark Industries stock is finally back to normal levels after the whole palladium disaster. One headline like 'Iron Man Kills Captain America' and I'll be finished."

The second the words were out of his mouth, Tony knew they had been a mistake. Hurt flashed across the Cap's face, though it was quickly masked by defensive indifference, and he pulled himself out of Stark and Thor's grip.

"I'm sorry," Steve mumbled, fumbling to open the door opposite of the one Romanov and Barton were blocking. He needed to get out of the car—to put some space between him and the man who only cared about himself and, by extension, his company and viewed everyone else as a means of achieving his fame and success. After seeing Stark fly the missile through the portal and feeling genuinely torn about telling Agent Romanov to close it even though the billionaire hadn't returned, he been willing to correct his original assessment of Howard's son. But, apparently, even that act of valor had been a rouse. "It won't happen again."

Tony groaned as he saw Rogers fumble with the door handle. He wanted nothing more than to shower and crawl into his own bed for a straight day, then have this discussion later over some serious proof alcohol. Right now, though, for reasons he couldn't explain, he knew leaving was the wrong decision. The blond's disheartened look had ignited his deep-seeded desire to fix…and he _hated_ that the Capsicle had this effect on him after only a few days.

Truth be told, Stark never put much emphasis on words: people lied _so_ easily, their faces impeccably innocent, only moments before they ended up disappointing you or destroying your life. He'd been on the receiving side of these looks more times that he was willing to count. Actions, though, those were harder to fake; they tended to reveal everything you ever wanted to know about someone. And watching Captain America go out of his way to save hoard after hoard of trapped civilians had made Tony (albeit, very briefly) reconsider his own rather harsh initial assessment of the soldier.

"Steve, wait," he exhaled loudly, massing his aching temples with his fingertips.

Rogers hesitated at the use of his first name. "I don't think we really have anything else to discuss, Stark." He pawed at the handle again but was interrupted by Thor who lightly shoved Steve's arm out of the way and plopped down in front of the door.

"I believe metal man has earned the right to speak," the Asgardian said.

Natasha glanced up from the hastily drawn map and locked gazes with her partner. "This should be good," Natasha stated and Clint nodded his agreement. They shoved the completed map in Happy's direction and bent down, their faces were centered in the doorframe, so as to not miss a word.

"The god has spoken," Tony deadpanned, turning back to Rogers. "You take things too seriously."

Steve rolled his eyes. "And you don't take things seriously enough," he shot back as he looked over his shoulder and silently asked Clint and Natasha to move. "We've had this conversation."

"Yeah but you're not getting it. Sometimes people, um, say things that they don't necessarily mean when they're…happy…that the thing they were slightly, just a tiny bit concerned about, didn't really happen," Stark began, staring at a small speck on the floor.

"I believe Mr. Stark means to say he is glad you were not more seriously injured, Captain Rogers," JARVIS interrupted. "His sense of humor is rather dry but I can assure you he meant no ill harm by his previous statements."

Steve and Thor again looked around in surprise. "Who is that?"

Tony waved his hand, too exhausted to explain the concept of his AI. "It was Happy over the intercoms. But what he said is right. Mostly. I have a great sense of humor."

Natasha arched one eyebrow but said nothing.

Steve stopped trying to exit the limo and leaned back in his seat.

Tony glanced up at the ceiling as if asking for more inspiration and, upon not receiving any, shook his head. "That's all I've got."

Rogers was silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. "For the record, I'm glad you made it back through the portal."

Tony caught his eye and gave the soldier a half-smile.

"Next time, you tell us about this," Stark pointed at the healing wound, forcing his mask of nonchalance firmly back in place. The soldier obediently nodded, his eyebrows still raised at Stark's uncharacteristic show of…caring.

Tony waved his finger at everyone else. "That goes for the rest of you too. I'm finally on good terms with Pepper, mostly because the company's stocks aren't in the toilet, and _nothing _any of you say or do better change that."

"I believe Tony is asking if any of you have other, more serious injuries you've been hiding," Banner translated. "If you did, now would be the time to tell us."

"I have received no wounds that have not already healed," Thor was the first to say.

Banner's inquiring gaze travelled to Stark, whose pupils were dilated even though there was a fair amount of light in the interior. "How bad's the concussion?"

"What concussion?" Tony asked innocently, running his fingers through his hair.

"You're the one who wanted honesty."

"Plus I saw you get your ass kicked by that six alien team," Clint spoke up.

"I did _not_ get my ass kicked," Stark replied indignantly. He scowled at Banner who was quietly waiting for him to continue. "It's mild," he admitted sourly after a long moment. "Not bad at all."

"Still gonna need concussion checks. Fun times." Clint pulled a face and cried out in pain as Natasha drove her elbow into his side.

"Nat tore a tendon in her wrist," he blurted in retaliation. The Widow fixed him with a scathing glare. "What? It's pretty obvious—it's the size of a soup can."

"Yeah well, you crashed through a glass window and landed on your quiver."

Banner scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling like a preschool teacher surrounded by rowdy three-year-olds in that exact moment. "I'm starting to think a team trip to the hospital might be in order."

Apparently no one in the car thought this was a good idea as everyone began to voice their objections.

"All bumps and bruises—"

"—he's not a doctor. It's sprained not torn—"

"—It's just a window pane. Scratches, really—"

"—I can just sleep it off—"

"Fine, fine," he raised his hands and the complaining ceased. "No trip to the hospital. But I would advise a trip to SHIELD medical for that wrist, Natasha, and that ankle or knee, Barton, once the swelling goes down to rule out tears or breaks. I believe we can handle the rest at the Tower."

He was met with a few relieved nods.

"Now that we've settled that, you really think there is going to be 'next time'?" Barton asked Stark, the corner of his mouth tweaking up slightly.

"I'd bet on it. You think Eyepatch did all this work for a single showing? They went all the way to India to get him!" Stark motioned in Bruce's direction.

Natasha glanced around the car, her gaze lingering on each of the five very attractive men surrounding her. "I've had worse assignments," she decided. She straightened up and took a few steps back from the limousine.

Clint tilted his head, slack-jawed. After a quick hesitation, he grabbed the side of the vehicle, hauled himself upright and limped after his partner. "Natasha, I think we need to talk about those looks you just gave everyone. Romanov!" he continued shouting as the two disappeared out of earshot.

"No one asked if you were alright," Steve said quietly to Dr. Banner. His statement wasn't entirely true because Tony, knowing how private Bruce was, had planned on asking him later on, when fewer Avengers were around, but now was as a good a time as any.

"Aye," Thor added. He shifted to one side in order to open the car door. "The green fellow was fired upon a great many times."

"They didn't even penetrate the…the Other Guy's skin," Bruce said quietly. "The only side effect of my…transformation…is insatiable hunger and a need for an uninterrupted ten hours of sleep."

Before anyone else could respond, Happy leaned into the car. "I really think you should get checked out, Mr. Stark," he interjected. "You know what happened the last time—"

"I've got the best looking after me," Tony pointed to Banner then climbed out of the vehicle and clapped Happy on the shoulder. "Thanks for the ride, man."

"You think you're up to moving?" Bruce asked, turning his attention back to Steve and seeing the soldier nod affirmatively.

He, Thor and Stark hovered protectively around the car door while Rogers levered himself out of the vehicle. Though his hand never left his injured side, he politely refused the offers to help him walk from all three of his…teammates?...yeah, after what they had been through, he supposed 'teammates' covered it.

They waited for Happy to hand Tony his metal briefcase before slowly following Natasha and Clint who had been denied access to the building by an overzealous security guard. Once he laid eyes on Stark, however, the guard rushed to hold open the glass doors, allowing the six of them to hobble into the Tower, together.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


End file.
